masta_is_a_fgtfandomcom-20200215-history
Issue 5 proto
FIve minutes earlier... "Bloody Ada, is there anything in this house that actually works?" Lance muttered to himself, flicking the switch once more just to make check that the lightbulb was definitely fucked. Of course, it was totally and utterly fucked, like most things at Marshwood. He'd hoped that they wouldn't have to use the torch, but now it was their only option. "Is there anything in this house that doesn't make you grumble?" Maxine said in retort. Lance loved her, he really did, but he found her to be a little too quick at picking up on his mistakes sometimes. He didn't like to admit it, but Maxine really called the shots in their relationship. Everything he did, even if it wasn't something she'd told him to do, was the for the benefit of Maxine and her sister. "Not much, no, but we really needed that light..." he replied, now searching his pockets for the batteries he'd found earlier. He didn't find them, and having lost whatever patience he had left, let out a deep and loathsome sigh. "Max, have you got the Antons?" "Yeah, they're right here" she replied with a reluctant grin, handing him the pair of batteries. It had been an old joke, one that had put Lilly in Anton's bad books for several months, that Anton's mop of ginger hair beared a curious resemblance to the copper end of a Duracell battery. Thanks to that infamous quip from Little Miss Mason, every resident of Marshwood now referred to batteries as "Antons", much to their friend's chagrin. Lance rammed the pair of batteries into the torch and clicked the cover back into place, before turning it on. A thin yet clear spot of light appeared at the bottom of the cellar stairs, highlighting a torn orange wrapper, at their foot. With a grimace, Lance began to descend them, Maxine following closely behind with a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. There had been several incidents of people falling down the cellar stairs during their time at the home. "I bloody knew it!" Lance said as they reached the bottom. He picked up the wrapper and showed it to Maxine like a proud child showing off a drawing. "I knew that there were Mini Cheddars in the cupboard...and now we have proof that Lawson has been screwing us over...that bastard would've let us starve..." "Hold on Lance, don't kick off, just wait for Lilly's plan" Maxine told him. She was always the conscience, she called herself the reason to his madness, and most of the time that was true. This time, however, he wouldn't let her hold him back. Lawson had been hording their food, and then refusing to allow anyone to go out to find more. If Rachel hadn't seen Lawson carrying that box, they might all have starved. "Sorry Max, but I can't let him get away with this for a moment longer, he's beyond fucking help. He's clearly gone batshit, and he's more than willing to leave the rest of us up shit creek, sans paddle." "But what proof have we got? A crumpled packet of Mini Cheddars isn't exactly hard evidence babe..." "Max, he told me this morning that we didn't have any cheddars, even though I saw them in the cupboard yesterday. All we'd have to do is have Jim check the shopping list from last week, and it'll prove that he took them." "People binge eat when they're stressed Lance, he could've just been snacking." "But why deny it? And besides, don't you remember what Rachel said? She saw him take a box down here this morning. He has to be hiding something, and it's probably our food." Lance turned into the main cellar, and found the torch beam pointing at just what he was looking for. A pair of cardboard boxes; filled with food, toilet roll, toothpaste, and an assortment of other essentials; were right in front of them. The cellar was a sea of boxes and bags, but the ones they needed had been presented on a platter. "Max, I hate to say I told you so, but-" "Oh my God..." Maxine said, interrupting Lance almost thoughtlessly. He felt her grip his hand, and her touch was cold and shaky. "What's wrong Max? Wha- oh fuck...oh Jesus fuck..." As soon as he saw it, Lance knew why Maxine was shaking. From behind the boxes, he could make out the silhoette of a head, with that of another object next to it. He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and pointed the torch at the shape. "Oh God Lance...it's...it's..." he heard Maxine stammer, her head now pressed against him and her hand gripping him even tighter than before. The head was familiar, and yet so different; probably because the left side had been caved in with what appeared to be an equally bloody baseball bat. Lance couldn't help but to finish Maxine's sentence. "It's Harriet..." he said. And then they heard a gunshot. —— Jim could feel his arm slowly giving way. He had a firm grip on Lawson's hand, which in turn had a firm grip on the old gun; and neither of them were willing to budge. The catch, however, was that Lawson was far younger than he was; and that made him far stronger than Jim could ever hope to be. There were just seconds left until his old boss wrestled the guns free, so Jim did the only thing that he could think to do. He reached behind him and twisted the doorknob. "YOU OLD BASTARD!" he heard Lawson bellow as they both fell through the door and onto the cold lino floor of the hallway. "I should've killed you like I did Harriet! You're nothing but bloody trouble!" That was the last staw. Whatever sympathy Jim had for Lawson, whatever respect they'd built over years of bickering, was gone in an instant. Lawson was mad, Lawson was deluded, Lawson was dangerous; and Lawson had a revolver in his hand. If he wasn't stopped now, he could kill everyone in the house. "You...murderer..." Jim scowled, almost unconsciously. He hadn't meant to say anything at all, but he couldn't hold back this new feeling of hatred he had for Lawson. This man had insulted his granddaughter, threatened his charges, and killed the woman he loved. There was no room for kind old "Mr G" here, only room for a determined old bastard with one thing on his mind: stopping - no, killing - Anthony Lawson. Jim felt his grip weakening again, under the desperate pressure that only a madman could apply. The gun was now pressed against his side, and Lawson was slowly forcing the barrel upwards towards his chest. He made the decision as soon as he felt Lawson's pressure subside; it was now or never, and the barrel of the pistol was pressed against his arm. He let go of Lawson's hand for just a brief second, and then brought his frail fist down on it with painful force. He felt Lawson's fingers squeeze under the pressure, then he heard the bang, and then after what seemed like an eternity, he felt a burning pain tear through his forearm. "You deluded old fucker..." Lawson smirked, and it really was a smirk. It was arrogant, smug, gloating; everything that Jim hated in a man, and particularly everything that he hated about Lawson. "You just shot yourself...in the fucking arm..." he continued, now panting. "And now I can finish the jo-" "What the fuck?!" Jim heard a voice say, a voice he'd hoped to hear, a voice he loved so much. His plan had paid off. What happened next happened so fast that he couldn't believe his eyes; a flash of brass and wood, and then Lawson was on the floor next to him. "LEAVE MY FUCKING GRANDAD ALONE!" Claire shouted, and then she brought the cane down on Lawson's face. —— center "YOU! FUCKING! BASTARD!" Claire screamed, each scream accompanied by a swing of her grandfather's cane. She could feel the brass handle hitting Lawson's face, she could hear him screaming and begging her to stop, she could see the blood pouring from his nose and mouth; and she really couldn't give a shit. "'JUST! FUCKING! DIE! YOU! EVIL! FUCKING! CU-'" Claire heard someone call her name, and then felt a firm grip take hold of the cane. Her hands shook, and she shook, and then she dropped the cane and fell to her knees. She just blocked out Lawson's groans of agony, because they made her want to hurt him even more. "Grandad, a-a-are you alright?" she stammered, now hunched over Jim's body. He was pale, and he seemed to be fluttering in and out of consciousness. "I'm alright love..." Jim sighed, though clearly exhausted and in pain. "Looks like I've ruined my best shirt though" he said with a slight grin, referring to the bloodstained arm of his otherwise spotless white shirt. "Yeah...I'm glad you're alright grandad..." Claire smiled back. "We all are" added a voice from behind her, likely the person who stopped her from finishing Lawson off. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Lance looking down at Jim with a fond smile. Dotted all over the kitchen were most of the other residents of Marshwood; their faces were all cocktails of emotion, the most prevalent of which were shock and relief. They'd all arrived just seconds after Claire, and had both heard Lawson's ravings and then seen his subsequent beating. The only resident who wasn't among them, instead looming over Lawson in a terribly foreboding manner, was the one to speak next. "So what are we gonna do about this piece of shit?" Lilly asked, eyeing Lawson carefully. If it was possible to strip search someone only your eyeball, then Claire knew that it would look something like this. She watched, everyone watched, in total silence, as Lilly pressed a finger down hard on Lawson's shattered nose. To cut a long story short, he cried like a little girl. "Lilly..." he groaned. "What the b-b-bloody 'ell are you doin' girl?" Behind her, Claire heard Lance quietly ask Caitlin to take Rachel upstairs, a decision that she wholeheartedly agreed with. Whatever happened next was not going to be pretty. "I think he needs to die" Lilly said abruptly, not replying to Lawson but rather addressing her peers (and Jim and Claire, naturally). "You heard what he did to Harriet...and we all know that he knew about Sharp..." "He killed Mr Sharp?!" came a shocked voice from the back of the group, the weedy and raspy tone that could only belong to Jake Hughes. "No, dipshit, he just knew what Sharp was up to. If he'd killed Sharp, I'd be giving him a medal, not proposing to slit his throat." Claire didn't exactly know what they were talking about, but she knew fragments of the legendary Alexander Sharp. She didn't know why, but Sharp was like a bogeyman to the care kids, they spoke of him with loathing that she'd never before seen in teenagers. She also knew that he went off and disappaeared near the end of 2001, which was incidentally a few weeks after Lilly first arrived at the home. "I liked Mr Sharp, he was nice to me" Jake muttered to himself, something that he realised was a mistake as soon as he said it. "Yeah, well I guess that pervs of a feather flock together and all that" Lilly smirked, making him go red. "Is there something I'm missing here?" Claire asked. "What do you mean by pervs of a feather?" "Well..." Lilly grimaced. "That's...that's a story for another time. The important thing to do now is to blow a hole in Lawson's he-" "HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELVES?!" Lawson suddenly roared, followed by a short encore of coughs and splutters. "I raised you kids like you were my own...I ignored Sharp because he wasn't doing any harm, all he did was look in the wrong places a few times..." At this point, Claire could hear Lance breathing heavily, as if he were ready to tear Lawson apart limb-by-pathetic-limb, not that she could blame him. After learning what Maxine had been through, it would be hard for Lance not to feel so strongly about men who "look in the wrong places". "So..." Lawson continued. "What have you got to say for yourselves?" "Nothing" Lilly replied calmly. "Just something to do." "What do you fucking me-" Lawson never finished his question. The marble that shot through his right eye and out the back of his head made sure of that. "Heh..." Lilly smirked to herself, holding a weapon that almost made Claire's jaw hit the floor. It was a slingshot; made from nothing but loom bands, twine, a pair of scissors and a patch of shoe leather. What Lilly said next sent a chill down Claire's spine, which nothing had done for several years. She just looked over at her fellow residents, giggled (yes, it was definitely a giggle) and said: "Well, that's the second man I've killed with a marble." Before anyone else could speak, or even as much as change their expression, a thunderous knock came from the large oak door at the end of the hall. "Who is it?!" Lilly shouted, quickly reloading the slingshot with another marble and aiming it at the door. Claire almost moved to stop her, but then a voice called back. "Ah, Lilly, just the lass I'm looking for" it bellowed in a clear London accent. "It's Butch, in case you didn't recognise my lovely voice...now, I'm in a bit of a predicament here...there are two lovely coppers out here with a gun pointed at my head, would you mind letting us in?"